Brad's Alternative Ending
by Jen Wesker
Summary: Someone decided that KrauserxBrad would be a fantastic pairing! So I wrote it. But I'm pretty sure the person who suggested the pairing didn't expect it to turn out like this...


Brad reached up and wiped the sweat from his brow. Coming back to Raccoon City was probably the worst decision he's ever made in his life, but his conscience had been eating at him since he left. He had run away, chickened out, just like during the mansion incident. If he didn't come back, if he didn't do anything to help, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. The car had been idling at the city limits for a good 20 minutes now, and he had to move before he lost his nerve. He threw the car into drive and slammed on the gas. It was now or never.

The city was nearly decimated. Buildings were on fire, cars were abandoned in the streets, and an eerie quiet had fallen with the twilight. Brad turned down a few more empty streets, he was determined to stay in his car for as long as he could- the car meant safety. At the end of the current street, Brad took a right. A few minutes passed before the road was impassible- an 18-wheeler lay overturned across the road. Brad sighed, and threw the car into reverse. The car had backed up only a few inches when Brad heard a loud 'pop' and the car went lopsided. _Shit,_ he thought. He put the car in park and got out to survey the damage. The back driver's side tire was completely flat. He hadn't brought a spare tire, either. There hadn't been enough room for it in the trunk after he filled it with all the essentials he thought he'd need. Reaching back into the car, he turned off the ignition. He popped the trunk and took out everything he could carry- two 9 millimeter pistols with holsters, a shotgun, and a backpack filled with food, water, and extra ammunition. The other things, like the tent, cooking equipment, and fire extinguisher would have to stay behind. Besides, he could just make a mental note of the street and….

The sound of something crashing to the ground made him scream and jump into the air. He turned around, aiming the shotgun in the direction of the sound. A garbage can lay knocked over in the street, but there was nothing unusual about it. No zombies, none of those mutant dogs…nothing. Just more uneasy silence. Brad relaxed, but tensed again at the sound of a soft moan. _Zombies, oh god there are zombies…everyone here is a zombie, the entire city WHY DID I COME BACK??_ Brad's mind was racing. He took a few deep breaths. He had come to help, to make up for what he did back at the mansion. The moan came again, this time accompanied by the sound of shuffling footsteps. Brad cocked the shotgun. He was totally ready for this. He ran over and pressed his back against the nearest building, and took another breath before turning to face the threat. A single zombie stood in the street, his shirt torn and bloodstained, eyes staring blankly ahead. _One zombie, no big deal_. Brad pulled the trigger, and the zombie's head exploded almost instantly. Brad smiled. If he could avoid groups of them, he'd be fine. His heart was beating a mile a minute, the rush from taking out his first zombie running through his veins. Another soft moan sounded behind him, followed by shuffling feet. Not just one pair of shuffling feet, and more than one moan. Brad turned around and looked toward the way he had come. At least 20 zombies stood in the street, shuffling towards him, their pathetic cries growing louder with each step. Brad panicked and almost dropped the shotgun. Somehow, he managed to hold onto it as he turned and bolted up the street. There were more now- coming out of doorways, crawling out from under cars. Brad ran until his legs couldn't carry him anymore, and realized that he had probably gotten himself terribly, terribly lost. He stopped running and looked around. Skyscrapers were all around him, and he was sure that he could probably find one that was…minimally infested. He picked the one closest to him, as night was beginning to fall and the street lights had yet to come on. He opened the door and stepped carefully inside, pumping the shotgun to expel the used cartridge. He had one more left before he needed to reload. Now that he thought about it, even though the shotgun was generally good for crowd control, it took a while for him to reload it. So it was probably better that he had run from the first large group of zombies he had encountered. He would never have had enough time to reload, and they would've devoured him for sure. After a thorough examination, he found that the lobby was one hundred percent zombie free. He decided to try the elevator- the more distance he put between himself and the ground, the better. He pushed the up arrow, and the elevator began making its way down. Brad bounced up and down nervously as he waited for the elevator to arrive. The outside lights weren't on, but there had to still be electricity, because the elevator was working and the emergency lights weren't on. A soft ping signaled the elevator's arrival, and when the doors opened, a dead body fell out and nearly knocked Brad to the ground. He screamed and jumped pack, pulling the trigger of the shotgun and blasting a hole in the body. He took a moment to catch his breath, then looked into the elevator. The walls were smeared with blood, but there were no other bodies inside. He stepped in, and pushed the button for the 10th floor. He wanted to be high up, but not that high up.

The door opened on the tenth floor, and he stepped out wielding the shotgun like a club. He would have to reload as soon as possible. He walked down a hallway, peeking into dark offices as he went. He finally chose one near the end, flicking on the light switch before stepping inside. He checked under the desk, in cabinets, even in the small closet. When he was satisfied that there were no zombies or other potentially deadly things in the room, he locked the door and dropped the backpack on the floor. He expelled the spent cartridge from the shotgun, and reloaded with some of the ammo from the pack. The clock on the desk read 7:15pm; it had gotten dark fairly early. Brad looked out the window. The street lights were on now, and he could see the undead wandering around aimlessly. He thought he saw a few of the dogs, too, but it was too dim for him to tell. He quickly closed all the blinds; he didn't want to see anything new and possibly more frightening. There was a soft thud against the door, and Brad dove under the desk, cradling the shotgun. The soft moan of a zombie floated into the room. Brad was shivering, holding on to the shotgun for dear life. As long as the door was locked, the zombie couldn't get it. Well, as long as there was only one. A wave of exhaustion suddenly came over Brad, and despite the zombie attempting to get into the room, he dozed off.

Jack Krauser sighed impatiently. Wesker could be such a pain in the ass sometimes. He didn't need to be told how to do his job. As long as he got his money, he'd take care of anything he had to. This assignment would be extremely easy. "You need to take out Brad Vickers, ex- S.T.A.R.S pilot. We need the Nemesis to focus solely on Jill Valentine," Wesker said. A picture of the target popped up on the screen. Video communication definitely made things easier. Krauser nearly laughed out loud- Vickers didn't look a day over 20, and probably hadn't gotten into anything resembling a fight in his entire life. Krauser snarled. "You really couldn't find something worthwhile for me to do? This little shit will probably end up getting himself killed anyway." Wesker fixed his sunglasses and sat back in his chair. "Jack, just find the target and eliminate him. After you take him out, you will report back to me and I will give you another assignment. If you complain, I'll tell you to go home. And you won't receive your fee." Krauser rolled his eyes. "Fine. Do you have any idea where he's hiding out?" A map appeared on the screen. "He appears to be near the center of the city. My satellite doesn't show exactly where he is, but he should be in this general area." A red circle appeared on the map, and the view zoomed in. It was a relatively small area, but if he was hiding in one of the buildings, it would be difficult to find him. There was no way in hell he was going up to each floor of every fucking building to find this guy. The map disappeared off of the screen. "You have until 3am. I will send a helicopter as soon as you contact me." Krauser began to speak, but the screen went blank. That's it? That's all he was doing in Raccoon City? Finding some punk ass kid and murdering him? He shook his head. He would kill the guy alright. He pulled his knife out of its sheath and tested the sharpness against his finger. A thin line of blood appeared, and he returned the knife to the sheath. He wouldn't need any weapons for this mission. Well, maybe for the zombies, but he had enough arrows for his crossbow and enough flash grenades to last until he had completed his mission. _Or until 3am,_ he thought. For this kill, he wouldn't use his bow or his knife. He was going to use brute force. He smiled, picked up his crossbow, and left the building he had found with the video set-up that Wesker used to contact him. It was going to be an interesting night.

Brad yawned and opened his eyes. He jumped suddenly, and he hit his head on the underside of the desk. He yelped in pain and rubbed his head with his hand. He suddenly remembered that there had been a zombie at the door, and he clutched the shotgun and listened. The hall was quiet now; the zombie must have given up and gone away. He crawled out from under the desk and surveyed the room carefully. The door was still closed, and everything in the room was in the exact same place it had been before he fell asleep. He looked at the clock, and wiped his eyes in disbelief. It was now 10:15 pm, he had been out for 3 hours straight. _Shit shit shit…._he thought. He had to leave now, he had to try and find Jill. He knew she was still here somewhere. He unlocked the door and peeked out into the hallway. There was no sign of the zombie that had attempted to break in. He made his way down the hallway back towards the elevators, and pushed the down arrow. The elevator arrived quickly and Brad, having learned his lesson the first time, aimed the shotgun at the doors as they opened. There was nothing in the elevator. He stepped inside, and pushed the 'L' button. Music started playing in the elevator, and the sudden sound made him jump. He smiled when he recognized the song and started singing along. He even danced a little before the elevator reached the lobby. The doors opened right after he finished spelling 'bananas' and burst out laughing. A look of concern crossed his face, and he stopped the laughter. He surveyed the lobby carefully, checking around to see if anything new had decided to take up residence in the building. He didn't see anything, and he decided to leave. He had to find Jill, and he had to find her fast. He exited the building, avoiding an undead grandmotherly woman who reached for him as he walked into the street. The street to his right was relatively clear of zombies, with several buildings still burning. He ducked around abandoned cars, shotgun held out in front of him. He had made it several blocks before realizing that he had left his pack back in the building he had slept in. He immediately began having a panic attack. He needed to go back, it had his food and ammunition and…

Something crashed to the ground behind him. He turned around and nearly wet himself.

The thing standing in front of him was over 7 feet tall, with a grotesquely malformed face and huge muscles. It was dressed in a long leather jacket and pants and huge boots and…Brad's brain nearly stopped function. "What….what the hell??" He said out loud, and tried to take a step back. His back hit the car he had been hiding behind. The creature looked at him, and in a deep raspy voice said "STARSSSS…" Brad screamed. This thing had come for him, he was a member of S.T.A.R.S, and he was about to die at the hands of another Umbrella creation. The beast reached out one of its long arms and grabbed him by the throat. He dropped the shotgun and wrapped both hands around the arm. He struggled violently, trying to break free from the vice grip. He couldn't breathe, he felt himself starting to fade out…then he was flying through the air. His back hit a wall and he fell to the ground. He started to get up, and something grabbed him from behind and shook him violently. It tossed him again, this time he landed on a car windshield. The windshield shattered. Brad fell into the car, bleeding. He felt the car begin to move, and then the car itself was flying through the air with him in it. The car hit the ground and turned over on its side. He was somehow still conscious, somehow still functioning. He crawled out of the car and managed to stand up. He turned around, and his face was directly in the chest of his assailant. He screamed loudly and punched the thing in the chest. Nothing happened, and he swore he heard the thing laugh. He knew in that moment that he was going to die, that he would never see Jill again. The thing took him by the throat again and lifted him in the air. He barely had enough energy to struggle against the creature. Suddenly, he was dropped. The creature was shaking his head, a trail of blood ran down its face. And arrow appeared in its shoulder, then another. There was a blinding flash of white light, and Brad felt himself being lifted by his waist, and then he was being carried. He smelled the strong scent of cologne, and then passed out.

Krauser carried his target to a restaurant several blocks away. The Nemesis had been distracted by a few arrows and a flash grenade. That fact made him very happy, seeing as it had taken him damn near forever to find the brat. He probably had been holed up in a building somewhere. Krauser had had to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh when the Nemesis first got a hold of Brad. He was surprised the kid hadn't shit himself on the spot. According to Wesker, this kid ran at the first signs of danger. That fact that he was still alive was even more impressive. Krauser looked around the restaurant. The dead weight under his arm was starting to get annoying, and he had to take a piss. He carried Brad to the bathroom and dumped him on the floor. He relieved himself in one of the urinals, and he was washing his hands when Brad began to stir. He would take care of the target. Oh, would he take care of him…

Brad woke up in a bathroom. He didn't know how he had gotten there, but now that he thought about it, it was probably a good thing he was here. He no longer had any weapons- the 9 millimeters he had brought had fallen off in the car when it was tossed. He stood up shakily and walked over to one of the sinks. He looked in the mirror and gasped. He was filthy, and a bruise covered most of the left side of his face, his shirt and vest were covered in blood. He took off the vest and his shirt so he could get a better idea of exactly how badly he was injured. He didn't think anything was broken, but he was covered in cuts and bruises. He turned on the sink and washed his face gently. The sound of running water made him have to pee- luckily, he was in a bathroom. He walked over to a urinal, wondered if he should check the stalls for zombies before he dropped his pants, and decided to make a cursory check. He slowly got on his knees and looked under the doors of the stalls. There were only three, and he didn't see any feet. He decided it was safe, and stood up. He turned to face the urinal, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Krauser crouched silently on the toilet. He waited patiently, heard the kid get down onto the floor, probably to check under the stalls. Once he heard movement and was certain that the other man was no longer looking, he quietly stepped down off of his perch. He opened the stall door slowly, and watched his prey. As soon as the kid dropped his pants, he'd be finished.

Brad had barely finished his piss when something slammed into him from behind. It wasn't the creature from before, it was more human and smelled like cologne. His body hit the urinal and he fell to his knees. A hand grabbed his head and yanked it back so he was facing upwards. The man that stood over him was muscular, with a scar running down the left side of his face, over his eye. His red beret had fallen off, and he kicked it away. "Brad Vickers," he said in a low, threatening voice. Brad gulped. "Y-yes, sir." The man grinned. "Jack Krauser. Do you know how long it took me to find you? You've been a pain in my ass, and now I'm going to be a pain in yours." Brad looked confused and scared at the same time, and Krauser liked the look. He let go of Brad's hair and said "Turn around and face me." Brad did as he was told.

Krauser was already hard at the thought of assaulting the hell out of his target. He unzipped his pants and dropped them around his ankles. He tugged on his boxers and allowed them to drop as well. His dick was directly in Brad's face, and he was going to make the little fucker pay for wasting his time. Brad gasped, and Krauser took advantage of his mistake. He put a hand on the back of Brad's head and forced the other man's mouth around his penis. Brad's eyes widened and he gagged immediately. Krauser didn't move his hand, instead, he laughed. He had moved his sheath to his shoulder, and he removed his knife. He put the blade to Brad's throat with his free hand. "Suck it, bitch. Or I cut your fucking throat." Brad whimpered, but once again did as he was told. The suction was weak at first, but he began in earnest when Krauser pressed the point of the knife into his throat just hard enough to draw blood. Krauser grinned- either the kid was a fag, or somewhere down the line he had learned to handle things in his mouth. He returned the knife to its sheath and put his other hand behind Brad's head and forced him to take it deeper. He could feel the other man's gag reflex kicking in, but he really didn't give a shit. He'd get used to it. He'd get used to it and adjust or he'd choke to death. Brad chose the latter, raising himself up on his knees a little to get a better angle. Krauser got bored really quickly, and this guy didn't have enough skill to keep him interested for much longer.

Using one hand, Krauser pulled Brad's head back forcefully and then stepped back so that his dick was free of the kid's mouth. He pulled him to his feet by his hair, then turned him around and shoved him into the wall next to the urinals. He tugged his pants and underwear down forcefully so that they were wrapped around the guy's ankles in such a fashion that he wouldn't be able to make a break for it, should he be stupid enough to attempt it. He thought about spitting on his hand and making his entry a little less rough for the guy, but he decided against it. If he hadn't gotten him slick, that was his own damn fault. He could see the other man's chest heaving heavily, his eyes closed, his body bracing itself against the impending invasion. _Too bad, _Krauser thought, and with a powerful thrust completely shredded the kid's defenses. Brad screamed and tried to wiggle away. "That doesn't go there! OWWWWW what the hell? That doesn't go there!!" Krauser grinned. "It does now," he said, putting his hands on Brad's hips, pulling back a little, and thrusting again. Brad kept struggling, trying to get as close to the wall as possible and away from the massive force invading his nether-regions. Krauser's penis was freaking huge, and Brad, even though he'd had a few homosexual encounters, had never experienced the feeling of a really big dick in his ass. No lube, no nothing, just his assailant's cock going in and out, ignoring his cries of pain. Krauser heard the younger man begging, but he ignored it. He had more important things to focus on. Like his own personal fulfillment. He could feel that he was close, but he was going to torture the kid for as long as he possibly could. He sped up his thrusts, forcing his way in each time. Brad was trying to clench tight, to not allow Krauser to get very far in. Krauser was a lot stronger than Brad's natural impulses, and hit deeper with each thrust. Brad hadn't gotten that if he just went along with it, it would hurt a lot less. He felt him shaking, and when Brad's knees gave out Krauser held him up himself. The younger man began to go limp, and Krauser was beginning to wonder what he was going to next when the building they were in rocked forcefully. Krauser had held it in enough, and released with a loud, guttural grunt. He pulled out and let Brad's limp body fall to the floor. He pulled up his pants and zipped them up. Krauser examined his handy work. Brad was bleeding pretty badly, but Krauser knew he wouldn't feel bad when he cut the fucker's throat. Suddenly, he realized that something was wrong. The guy wasn't whimpering, wasn't in the fetal position, and wasn't making any attempt to get away. He bent down and checked Brad's pulse. He didn't feel anything. He put his hand over his mouth, and didn't feel him breathing. Krauser didn't even try to suppress his laughter. He had literally fucked someone to death. He didn't allow himself to get too amused, though, and decided that he still needed to make sure his job was done. He took his knife out of its sheath, yanked the kids head back, and cut his throat. Arterial spray coated the walls, stalls, and sinks, and some hit Krauser, soaking his shirt. Aside from the original spurt, there was no rhythmic spurting, which meant that Brad's heart hadn't been beating when Krauser made the cut. The building shook again, more violently this time, and Krauser decided that it was time to get the fuck out of there.

Krauser sought safety in a large office building on the outskirts of the city. He had a solid hour and a half before he had to report in, but he decided to do it before he left the city. Using the computer in the lobby, he put in a video call to Wesker. After a few minutes, Wesker responded. Wesker fixed his sunglasses and crossed his legs. "Well, Jack? It's early. Don't tell me you're giving up." Krauser snarled. "Actually, I finished early." "That's usually a problem, Jack. They make pills for that." Krauser felt the rage well up inside him, but he suppressed it. This man was paying his salary, and he had to keep his emotions in check. At least until he got his paycheck. Wesker broke the silence. "Did you take care of Mr. Vickers?" Krauser grinned. "Oh, I took care of him. And myself at the same time." Wesker raised his hand to adjust his sunglasses, then stopped. "Oh Jack, you didn't…" Krauser laughed. "Oh, but I did." Wesker shook his head and sighed. "As long as the job is finished. Get your ass back here, Jack. I have someone to introduce you to. You'll be working with her for a while." Krauser nodded, then shut off the computer. He had to get the hell out of Raccoon City, and he'd be leaving with a lot less tension. Krauser smiled to himself. Despite the burning buildings around him and the acrid smell of smoke, he was having the best night ever. He only hoped that his new 'partner' wouldn't break easily.

THE END


End file.
